


The Son of Asmodeus

by miasmajesty



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, We deserved dark magnus, hellboy au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-02-29 22:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18787465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miasmajesty/pseuds/miasmajesty
Summary: On October 7th, 1944, the Clave attempts to harness the power of the formidable Asmodeus in order to defeat their enemies, but are instead met with an omen, foretelling the upcoming rise of a new world, dominated by Edom’s creatures.A few decades later, the Clave is alerted to a powerful disruption in the Ley Lines in Jakarta, Indonesia, and Asmodeus’s omen is born.Present day, warlock Magnus Bane works for the Clave as their first and only Downworlder agent, battling their demons, and an upcoming prophecy he doesn’t know he is a part of.*Hellboy Inspired AU, tags will update as I write





	1. Magnus Bane

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by the Hellboy movies, because I though of it while watching season 3B (the Clary-Jon connection anyone??) and then I was like…what if Magnus was Hellboy…  
> Plus I love Del Toro’s fantasy, and I think Hellboy could fit Magnus Bane really cool, considering his dad's a prince of hell. But don't worry, this isn't an exact rip off the movie. 
> 
> Im going to try and update this as frequently as I can, I figured publishing the first chapter will at least get me started on writing the rest of it. I’ll try to be consistent, fingers crossed
> 
> Tags may also be updated as i truck along
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave your thoughts and comments! I love to hear anything and everything
> 
> (also disclaimer, I own nothing and I'm just havin fun)

London Institute, post 1960s

 

“So they found him.  It’s a him?”

 

The other shadowhunter nodded affirmatively, “Branwell should be back with him soon.  Imogen’s requested his safe return.”  Her eyes were locked on one of the multiple screens on the wall, where an outline of Indonesia was superimposed with the glowing blue pattern of the Ley Lines, streaking across the country like digital strings of yarn.

 

A low whistle escaped from the first voice, “Bloody hell, what on earth could the council want with a demon? Where does she expect to keep it? Here, in the London Institute?” 

 

“That’s not certain yet, but I assume she wants a look at him.  It would be a mistake to deny his power.  He’s caused some major vibrations in the Ley Lines.  Right here,” She tapped the screen and a red, pulsing circle appeared and encircled a point where two Ley Lines converged.  The circle rippled out kilometres wide, revealing just how large the impact of magic was.

 

The first voice hummed, “Wonder what it looks like.  Son of a High Prince of Hell, d’you reckon he’s got devil’s horns? A tail?” He snickered.

 

“Jack,” The young Maryse Lightwood interrupted, her attention suddenly at the Institute’s entrance.

 

In the blink of an eye, a swirling, golden portal had appeared then disappeared and, in its place, a tight circle of shadowhunters stood, clad in their intimidating black uniforms, their postures stiff, yet clearly all buzzing with apprehensive energy at whatever, or more like whoever, was in the middle of their circle.

 

At the front of the pack, a young, brown-haired man grimaced and wiped at his sweaty brow, clearly glad to be back in the institute. 

 

Maryse Lightwood bounded towards him, relieved at his safety, “Branwell! You got him?” Her voice was taught, her eyes flickered behind him, but she could see nobody.  Had they not brought back the demon? Had they killed him?

 

The soldier, Henry Branwell, grimaced and nodded tightly, “Son of Asmodeus, for certain.  But he’s…he’s not what we expected.  I contacted Imogen and she requested I bring him to Alicante next.”

 

Maryse blinked, but before the question could come out, she eyed movement from behind the soldier, and gasped when the shape came into full view.  In the middle of the circle looked like a  young, human Asian boy, his arms folded to himself and his head lowered in a clearly afraid and self-protective stance.  He was in dirty, rumpled clothes, and in one hand he clutched a plain silver ring as if it was his life’s force.  Maryse had to cut the strings that pulled at her heart, looking at the unsuspecting little boy.

 

But all the doubt she had lasted for merely a second as soon as the boy looked up at her, sensing her stare.  Startlingly golden cat eyes peered back at her with such apprehension that Maryse swore his stare could pierce her dead if he so willed it.  They glowed like the lights that everyone claimed one could see as they died, grim and haunting.  They symbolized the end of the world.

 

 

London City, Present Day

 

When the London Institute found Magnus Bane, he was unnamed.  Well, he supposed he must have had a name, something his mother called him to get him to stop climbing on the furniture, or to stop playing with his food.  His father probably just called him _bodoh*,_ Magnus thought to himself with amusement.

 

It was Henry Branwell, his shadowhunter mentor in Alicante, who had helped him choose the name when he was younger.  His name was a promise to himself. _Magnus,_ because he was going to be great, and Bane, because nearly everyone who met him called him the banes of their existence (shadowhunters thought they were funny).

 

Either way, whether he was a great warlock or a great pain in everyone’s side, Magnus Bane was confident in living up to his name.  It was his life’s aspiration (and he was going to live a very long life).

 

“Magnus Bane,” Imogen Herondale called from the doorway of the London Institute’s library, swiftly walking towards Magnus’s table, where he had laid various schemes and potential blueprints for advancements towards the portal—a dimensional-travel doorway that was rooted in each Institute’s library for the sake of not having to call the nearest warlock every time some prisoner needed portalling to Alicante’s Prison.  

 

The London Institute’s own portal was just behind Magnus, planted into the wall, its door sealed, a creation he had made with Henry Branwell, one of his closest Shadowhunter friends.  

 

Frequently, the Clave was asking for Magnus’ inventions and help, whether it came to restoring wards or even fighting their particularly nastier demons, but this portal was a passion and a gift of gratitude for the Shadowhunters, for taking him in when he found himself alone in Indonesia.

 

“I see you're working hard,” Imogen commented appreciatively, studying Magnus’ prints.  She had been a part of the Council for as long as Magnus could remember, having been Inquisitor for the Angel knows how many decades.  She was a constant in Magnus’ life, and though she was strict, it was also a comfort, to see her so frequently and know she would be the same, strict, authority figure.  Apparently, the other Shadowhunters rarely saw her, but Magnus found himself seeing her more often that not.  She liked to watch out for him.

 

“But we need your help elsewhere,” The Inquisitor was saying, “The New York Institute is dealing with a sudden surge of demon attacks from a particularly vicious species, and they need you to find the source.  I hate to take you out of your studies and away from here, but it seems…we need your magic.”

 

Imogen was always so hesitant to ask Magnus to leave, and to use his magic.  Magnus liked to think it was because she was so considerate of him.  

 

Magnus cocked an eyebrow at her, “Imogen, dear, you know I’d find it hard to say no to travelling abroad—“

 

“I’ve told you to call me Inquisitor”

 

“—plus, I’ve never been to New York.  I’ve heard the night life’s divine.”

 

Imogen’s face tightened, “This is a serious mission, and as soon as your task is completed, you're expected to come back here immediately.  I don't take excuses, drunken or otherwise”

 

Magnus smiled coyly despite the seriousness, “When have I _ever_ relied on excuses?”

 

The corner of Imogen’s mouth ticked into what Magnus suspected was amusement and exasperation, or perhaps just exasperation.  “You’ll portal there in exactly an hour.  Maryse Lightwood will be greeting you on the other side to discuss protocol.”

 

Magnus grinned even wider, the prospect of visiting the ‘city that never sleeps’ flashing before his eyes in a fun montage of nightclubs and New York pizza, “Sounds fun.  Tell Henry I’ll bring him a classic New York hotdog, with extra relish.”

 

New York Institute

 

Maryse was relieved when Magnus arrived through the portal with his cat eyes glamoured brown.  She hadn’t seen the Warlock since she was on mission in the London Institute and Henry had brought him in as a child, his cat eyes glowing an eerie, hellish yellow.  She could feel the heat of his cat eyes even now, as he approached her.

 

She didn’t really understand the reasoning behind Imogen’s deciding to keep him alive if he was supposed to usher in the end of the world, but somehow Imogen believed that he could be useful.  And, she guessed, he was, seeing as he was here, in the Institute, helping the Clave with their issues.  She supposed she could've gotten over it, knowing that Magnus was usually contained in either Alicante or London, practicing magic that had to be taught or cleared by the Silent Brothers, but any remnant of even pretending to like Magnus Bane dissipated when he strutted over as though the world had his back, and he knew it.

 

How could a warlock who was so contained be so _showy_ , is what she wondered. He wore a shimmery purple blouse tucked into tight black pants, gold beads looping around his neck.  His eyeshadow matched his shirt, and his hair was dyed with streaks of gold.  

 

But it wasn’t really the clothes, or the arrogance that itched at Maryse.  No matter if he was more exposed to the Clave than to the outside world, through and through, Magnus Bane was a Downworlder.  And considering his parentage, perhaps he was even the worst one. 

 

“Magnus Bane,” She called, disliking the name on her tongue “…Thank you for coming.  The attacks have been wearing down our wards and our Shadowhunters, and we need you to talk to a suspect.  Lucian Graymark,” this name was different on her tongue, bittersweet, and she hated the flicker in Magnus’ eyes as he noticed her tone change, “the leader of a werewolf pack down at Jade Wolf.”

 

Magnus frowned, “Why would the werewolves be consorting with these demons?”

 

Maryse’s words hardened, as though offended at Magnus’s questioning, “The Downworlders have been known to be…uncooperative, and Lucian heads the biggest wolf pack in New York.  We’re just eliminating suspects.  Lydia will go with you.”

 

At her name, Lydia perks up from the screen which she was huddled over, her braid swooping behind her shoulder.  Upon seeing Magnus, she walks over and offers her hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Magnus Bane.  Henry Branwell worked with you on the portal.  It’s an honour to have your help here in New York.”

 

Maryse bristled at the overcompensating appreciation, but Magnus smirked, “Of course,” his smile softening, “You’d think for such a gossip, Henry would've told me more about you.”

 

“Ok,” Maryse interrupted before things might have gotten friendly _the angel forbid_ , “You two should be on your way.  Report back to me immediately.”

 

With a flourishing snap of his fingers, a portal opened at Magnus’ whim and the two stepped through. Maryse relaxed her shoulders at the warlock’s absence, and found herself able to breathe again.

 

 

Jade Wolf Restaurant

 

“Like I’ve told you multiple times, I’ve had nothing to do with these demon attacks.  I called _you_ because one of those things attacked one of my pack.  And now you're interrogating _me_?” Lucian Graymark, or Luke as he insisted, was an intimidating man, albeit fascinating.  Magnus had never met a werewolf in person before, only read about them through the libraries at Alicante, or quickly transported them via portal to prison.  

 

Magnus frowned at Luke’s accusatory words and looked to Lydia, who stood next to him inside the restaurant, her notebook in hand like a police investigator.  He assumed she knew more about the details of the situation than he did, and let her have the floor.

 

Lydia was scratching in her notebook, the sound grating in the restaurant’s silence, “You claim that one of your pack was attacked and you need our help, but records show you have never come to us before for help.  You can forgive me if I’m a little suspect.”  She sounded so righteous in Magnus’s head, perhaps it was her authoritative tone, but her words held no effect as Luke’s expression just got more angry.

 

“So you think I sabotaged myself.  Is that it?  You think I’m working with _demons_ , because theres no _possible_ way that I could be asking for help.”

 

“Anything’s possible,” Lydia simply said.

 

“I wasn’t aware your protection policy still didn't extend to Downworlders.  I should've known something ridiculous like this would've happened. Forgive me for thinking otherwise.  Now,” Luke turned to leave, “Get out of my restaurant”

 

Magnus was stunned on the spot, wondering how this man could be so rude and how Lydia, even, could be so condescending when her tone sounded authoritative and righteous, even.  He had never really done a mission like this before, much less in the presence of Shadowhunters.  He usually just showed up on scene in the middle of a demon attack and blasted them all out of the way.  Talk and interrogation wasn’t something he’d ever encountered.  He had no idea how to respond.  He hoped Lydia did.

 

This entire experience was really making Magnus feel out of his league here.  Usually, being the Clave’s Token Warlock, his magic made him feel like the expert.

 

He wondered what this Downworlder, Luke, had done before, to gain such distrust from the Clave.  Surely, it was justified.   Otherwise, this would be an act of prejudice, but the Shadowhunters weren’t prejudiced.  They were noble soldiers, loyal to the angelic cause.  

 

Magnus had never seen this side of the Shadowhunters before and he didn't know how to feel about what that implied.

 

Lydia’s expression twisted, “Actually, I think you should come with us,” she raised her hand to silence Luke as reopened his mouth to protest, “just to further clarify the details.  Magnus, please.” 

 

Magnus took this as his cue to whip up a portal, and there it came, spinning to life.  He briefly wondered if that was all he was here for—commuter service. 

 

Luke’s expression shifted to wide eyes as he laid his eyes on Magnus, “You’re a warlock.  And you're ok with this?”

 

“Magnus Bane holds a special contract to work with and for the Clave, not that you needed to know that.  Follow me, please,” Lydia insisted, becoming slightly more irate.

 

Luke took a step towards Magnus instead, “You’re part Downworlder.  You know working with the Clave doesn't exclude you from our world.  Remember where you come from, _Magnus_ _Bane,”_ Luke rolled his name off the tongue as though it was a warning.  Magnus felt himself freeze as he locked eyes with Luke.  They existed together in that beat of silence.

 

Then Luke stepped away and, with Lydia, disappeared into the portal.  A dazed Magnus followed soon after, his head considering the implications of Luke’s words.

 

He knew he was part Downworlder.  Of course.  The Clave reminded him of that every time they asked him for his help, help only magic could fix.  But he had never really met another Downworlder.  He hadn’t grown up around them.  He had grown up under the wing of Imogen Herondale and alongside Henry Branwell, under the tutelage of the Silent Brothers in Shadowhunter Institutes and angelically blessed buildings.  

 

Was that strange, that he had never really kept in touch with his Downworlder side?  That there really wasn’t much to _remember_? He supposed it was.

 

Magnus twisted the silver ring on his finger that had belonged to his mother.  What did he remember about where he came from?  He remembered Indonesia.  He remembered the warm brown eyes of his mother but no one had had yellow eyes like he did, the eyes that he hid when in the Institute because, as a child, he was told it was scary, weird, his glamour would help him fit in better.

 

But he couldn't really blame the Clave for his disconnection to the Downworld, when he had never asked to be connected in the first place. 

 

He remembered that his mother had killed herself, because of him.  Because of those yellow, glowing eyes.  He remembered the pain he had caused to his family.  Is that what it meant to be a Downworlder?  To inflict pain on others? 

 

To be honest, Magnus didn't wear the glamour for others so much as he wore it for himself. 


	2. Not One of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and co. portal back to the NY Institute, and Magnus wonders just how disconnected he's been from the Downworld while living in Alicante. Feeling as though he isn't trusted in NY, Magnus wants to proves himself otherwise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the love and the comments on the last chapter, its very motivating!! I’m glad to hear y’all are intrigued by the story so far!
> 
> Is it just me or is the spacing format for these chapters weird? Not sure how to fix that or if its just me oops
> 
> There’s a little less jumping around scenes in this one then there was last chapter, just needed to set the stage before. We're gonna meet some new characters ;)

Without a hitch, they were back within the white walls of the New York Institute, though now the space somehow seemed tighter than before.  The castle-like architecture of the Institute wasn’t as welcoming as it was now intimidating.

 

In Alicante, the European designs and stone walls were familiar, even comforting, to behold.  Alicante was the place where he had grown to accept the love and the life Imogen and Henry Branwell had given to him.  Except here, in New York, the aged walls and impossibly tall ceilings reinforced a history that Magnus had been taught but wasn’t and could never be a part of.  Magnus had grown up constantly surrounded by traditions and symbols of the Angel, the  heavenly deities that the Shadowhunters descended from.

 

The warlock suddenly felt as small as he had when he was just a child, brought to the London Institute for the first time, those many years ago.  Having to learn how to navigate around large stoney halls and the Shadowhunter customs he needed to follow in a Downworlder’s shoes.  

Opening the wrong doors to a room filled with books and scrolls upon scrolls he had never seen before, and immediately being shooed out by the adults when just a curious child.  He remembered when he had tried to visit that place again, the room was completely cleared of its contents, a clear response to his wanderings.

 

But it was the world of the Shadowhunters, a world that Magnus had been accepted into, and so he couldn’t complain against their generosity.  Imogen and the others hadn’t locked him in his room his entire childhood.  They let him explore and had let him learn.  But no matter how entrenched Magnus was in the world of the Shadowhunters, no matter how many demons he banished for them,  Magnus wasn’t a Shadowhunter.  He was a Downworlder.

 

Suddenly, standing there in the Institute, the warlock was too aware of the demon blood that was currently running through his veins.  The imposing walls of the institute seemed to be pushing down on him, as though shaming him for his blood, and for the strange amber of his eyes.

 

In his mind, Magnus mulled over the obvious disdain Maryse and Lydia seemed to hold against Luke.  The hard edge in Maryse’ tone when she had issued the mission implied a bitter, personal history.  He wondered who Luke was, and what he had done. 

 

_If he had done anything._

 

Lydia’s friendly tone drifted into his thoughts like a volume being slowly turned up, and it was when she spoke clearly that Magnus then realized that she had been talking to him.  Luke was, meanwhile, being led to the elevator on the other side of the room, flanked by two burly soldiers to where Magnus assumed he would be further questioned.  At the last minute, Luke’s eyes flitted to Magnus’ stare, then the doors closed with a finality that seemed eerily foreboding.

 

“…regarding how much you've done for the Clave.  My father speaks very highly of you,” Lydia was in the middle of saying.

 

“Oh,” Magnus blinked away from the elevator to Lydia’s friendly face, “Thank you very much.  I wouldn’t expect Henry to speak of me in any other way.”

 

Judging by Lydia’s comment, the Shadowhunters must have some sort respect for Magnus.  There was no need to fear sudden discrimination. There was no need for him to suddenly be fretting about all of this now.

 

So why were Luke’s words still stuck in his head like a stubborn thorn stuck to cloth? _Remember where you came from_.

 

Lydia, smiling from Magnus’ reply, was walking to the elevator, clearly intent on continuing her questioning from the Jade Wolf.  Magnus stepped forward to follow, only to be blocked by Maryse Lightwood.

 

He smiled easily at her and swerved to walk around her, but Maryse simply stepped in front of him once again.

 

“Mr Bane, I think its best if you let Lydia take care of this part” She suggested, though her clipped tone made it clear it was anything but.

 

Magnus’s smile faltered just enough to barely be visible, “Ms. Lightwood, I didn’t intend on having been sent to New York for serving solely as your portal services.  I believe Imogen made it clear my purpose was to help my partner here.”

 

“Yes, well, unfortunately, your business here in New York is no longer under the jurisdiction of Imogen Herondale.  Under this roof, you answer to the Head of the Institute and, Mr Bane, I have to insist you retire back to your room.  The sparring rooms are also open, if you feel you're in need of any training,” She added, feeling very kindly for letting Magnus open to such facilities, “I’ll inform you when your services are required again.” 

 

She smiled at him, a tight and professional smile, but her words were dripping with sweet condescension.  She turned with a definitive swish of her heavy ponytail, and then strutted down the hallway, her heels echoing off the chamber-like walls.  She had clearly marked the end of this discussion.

 

As Magnus watched her walk away, he felt a weary kind of weight settle in his stomach.  He was alone in the bustle of Shadowhunters scurrying off on their missions, clacking at the keyboards on their blue screens, a part of it and yet, not a part of any of it at all.

 

Magnus Bane had nothing to do, and it looked like everyone else had a list of a million things they needed to attend to immediately.  

 

 _But perhaps_ , he thought to himself, _I could take advantage of this_.

 

With the Shadowhuters preoccupied, and Maryse out of sight, Magnus let himself drift over to where the glowing, blue screens were gathered.  They were monitors of information and, perhaps, held records that Magnus could look over, just to see and to understand how exactly the Shadowhunter legal system worked.  

 

_Just some proof, to sedate those same doubts from childhood, to stop feeling like the lost boy from Indonesia…_

 

He tapped at the blue screen with an index finger, not really sure if he was looking for a certain file.  The Shadowhunters raced around him as if he wasn’t there, but still, he felt as if Maryse was at his back, breathing down his neck for not ‘taking advantage of one of the sparring rooms’ instead of this attempting this clear breach.

 

Scrolling through a list of alphabetized folders, he finally reached a folder clearly labeled ‘Prison Records’, surely a perfect fit for whatever Magnus was looking for.  But just above was another titled ‘Persons of Interest’.  

 

His mind immediately went to Luke.  The curiosity humming at his fingertips got the best of him, and, just as he thought, upon a click, the name _Lucian Graymark_ was one in a list of hundreds.  

 

He wondered what he was expecting if he clicked that name. Maybe Luke had instigated attacks against Shadowhunters before, or maybe he was known for causing trouble in the Downworld.  Magnus just hoped there was something, a legitimate reason for the Clave to look down on the werewolf, so that he would stop feeling as if the Clave was looking down on himself as well.

 

But before he clicked, one name stood out in that list that made his stomach suddenly tumble with dreadful surprise,

 

_Magnus Bane._

 

Without a second thought, he pressed his own name, a strange feeling rising in his chest.  Maybe it was just records of how the Shadowhunters had brought him in.  It couldn't have been anything terrible.  Perhaps it was information on Indonesia, how he was found, his parents, his demon heritage.

 

Magnus knew all Warlocks were descended from a demon, but he had never learned which one was his parent.  

 

 _A minor demon,_ probably, Henry Branwell had suggested to him when he was a child, _there’s warlocks out there with horns that can curl to the ceiling, and skin that can glow chameleon colours, but all you got are cat eyes._  

Magnus had accepted it, but there was still the curiosity.

 

He remembered the face of his mother, she hadn't had cat eyes. Knowing his father was the demon was the closest he’d been to any kind of identification.

 

But the screen glowed red upon his click, an alert popping up; ‘CLEARANCE NEEDED’, followed by a box to fill out a name and password.  He frowned at the screen.  He didn't know what name to fill out, and he certainly didn't know any password.  

 

Scowling at his thwarted efforts, the question of curiosity still pressed in his mind, he tried to think of any other solutions to quell the uneasiness he felt.  The library, perhaps, could tell him some information on prison records, or at least how the legal system here worked. He wanted to understand it, so he could use it properly, so he could show Maryse he was of use here.  He wasn’t simply magic service.

 

And his name, on file in the New York Institute.  Was he under watch here? Did they not trust him?  Again, the skepticism creeped in, and as Magnus wondered why it was coming to him now, in New York, he also wondered if the skepticism had been with him all his life.  

 

He was looking for proof that the Clave, the Shadowhunters, trusted him as a Downworlder.  He was looking for a reason to keep accepting Imogen’s home as his own.  Because without the home Imogen had gifted him, Magnus feared he had not home at all.

 

Magnus swept off to the halls, looking for any kind of library.  After scouring the halls, soon, he stumbled upon a pair of heavy oak doors, inscribed with the angelic symbol of the Shadowhunters.  Pulling open the doors, he found himself face to face with stacks upon stacks of books and archives inside.  

 

With the motivation still running through his veins, Magnus glimpsed over spine after spine of each book, his fingers eventually running over a thick collection of archives titled ‘Prison Records: Archived’. 

 

Hefting the book off the shelf, his hands skimmed over a small metal lock imbued with protective runes.  But Magnus’ magic could tell they were old and relatively weak.  Rebelliously, alone in that room of books, he waved his hand over the lock and heard the satisfying click of the runes giving in to his magic.  

 

He hadn't really needed to use magic to uncover things back in Alicante.  Everything was either there for him to see, or simply taken away, so that he would have nothing to unlock or uncover.  But now, here was something he could unlock.  Something not meant for his cat-slit eyes.

 

The most recent records were from a few months ago, but they were telling all the same, and didn't hold any of the reassurance Magnus was looking for.  If anything, they confirmed his worst suspicions, making the uncomfortable rising in his chest all the more worse.

 

The arrest records were filled with the names of Downworlders, the ‘Species’ column housed vampires, werewolves, even the occasional fae and, something churned in Magnus’ stomach, warlocks.  Shadowhunters were far and few between, and perhaps it was just because Shadowhunters were better at sticking to the law, but the offences listed next to the Downworlders were words like, ‘potential suspect’, ‘minor offence; arrested for attitude/suspicious behaviour’, ‘taken into questioning’…

 

Magnus thought of Luke at that last one.  The listed offences barely seemed legitimate for an arrest.  

 

Magnus had been looking for a reassurance of some trust from the Shadowhunters, but all he had found was mistrust and fear towards the Downworld.  

 

He wondered what they thought of him, a Warlock walking in their halls.  He contemplated the condescension Maryse looked at him with, the disdainful curl of her lips when she spoke his name.  What did they want with him here?

 

“You shouldn't be in here”

 

Magnus couldn't help but jump at the voice coming from the doorway.  He cursed himself for already abandoning his dignity. 

 

Maryse Lightwood was standing at the entrance of the library, disapproval etched in the sharp curve of her brows, but also something else, as if Maryse was trying to figure out a puzzle.  But Maryse seemed to be the kind of lady who always knew what was going on, and didn't need to ‘figure things out’.

 

Magnus deftly shut the book, his eyes not leaving her face, “My apologies, I wasn’t aware this wasn’t a public space.”

 

“No, that’s not,” Maryse glanced at the Angelic Rune on the door, but she then seemed to shake off the question in her mind with a breath, “It’s not important.  You're needed for the elimination of some powerful, unidentified demons downtown.   Your new partner will be by the entrance in 20 minutes.”  In her hands she held an envelope, the mission statement and information, he was sure.

 

The way ‘new partner’ rolled off Maryse’ tongue made Magnus think less ‘partner’ and more ‘babysitter’.  _Someone to watch me_ , he thought.  _I’m here to serve under the watch of the Shadowhunters._

 

Suddenly, Magnus wasn’t looking forward to waiting 20 minutes for another eye to follow him around with Maryse’ condescension inbred in him or her.  He didn't need an eye.  He was trustworthy to the Clave, and he was going to prove that to Maryse.   He didn't fall into the pool of untrustworthy Downworlders she had so clearly had put him in.

 

Walking towards her, he less than politely grabbed the envelope from her grasp, “I’ll be waiting,” he smiled,  and kept on walking until he was out of the Institute doors, determination gripping him steadfast.

 

_ _ _

 

Magnus had portalled himself downtown as soon as he was outside the Institute.

 

Night had already fallen onto the streets of New York, a blackness illuminated only by the stars above and the flickering yellow street lamps posted by the pavement.  Under a light, Magnus reached to open the information packet, but then stopped himself.  He could use his magic to track demons.  He didn't need an information packet to tell him what to do.  He wasn’t a Shadowhunter.

 

He stuck his hand out in front of him.  Searching for demons was like diving into a pool.  He felt as if he were entering another medium, where the demons that moved around him moved slowly as if swimming through water, leaving trails of red ash behind like bubbles, murky shapes that Magnus didn't have the goggles to be able to see clearly.  

 

 _Powerful_ , Maryse had described the demons as.  He concentrated, until he found a red that glowed brighter than the rest, a red that seemed to multiply, implying a large horde of demons, and a hellish power that seemed powerful and strangely compelling to him.  Perhaps that was part of their charm.

 

 _Lovely,_ Magnus thought, _and all for myself_.

 

He followed the red trail, visible only to himself, to a street that was pulsing with nightlife chatter, and the booming of bass-lifted music.  He found himself looking at a nightclub in the hollows of what looked like used to be an old warehouse, pounding with nightlife to the beat of electronic music.  The doors were wide open and Magnus could see a mass of bodies dancing inside, blinking twice when he realized he could see the occasional horns on someones head, or the fangs of another.

 

‘Pandemonium’, the neon sign above the club flashed.  _Demon_. 

 

 _Of course—a night retreat just for Downworlders._   It was amazing, really.  Magnus found the bones in his body begging him to go.  The figures inside seemed so carefree, dancing as if their lives depended on moving to the beats of the music, as if the night was all they had.  The flashing lights of purple and blue were luring the warlock as if he were a moth drawn to a flame.  

 

Then he glimpsed the figure of a woman moving her way through the dancing crowd, her bare arms spotted with inky black runes, a startling contrast to the velvety red outfit she wore.   Her hair was sleek and black as the night, tied up in a ponytail that reminded Magnus of Maryse.

 

_Oh, the mission._

 

Magnus remembered why he was here.  The sight of the shadowhunter in the club turned sour.  Perhaps she was supposed to be Magnus’ watcher, and was looking for him now.  The nightclub was probably the location her and Magnus’ informational envelopes held, as the demon trail had brought him there too.  She was probably trying to keep her nose above the crowd, to escape the stench of Downworld blood while she preyed on him like a shark hunting for blood. 

Well, she could've looked less conspicuous.  The bright red she wore was quite visible from where he stood.  Magnus smirked at the triumph of hiding himself.

 

A loud clash of metal sprang from the alley besides the nightclub.  Alert for demons, and with magic at the ready, Magnus moved towards it.  In the alley, two trashcans had been knocked over by a tall, hellish creature with long gargoyle-like wings and reptilian skin that was rough and gray.  

 

As soon as Magnus entered its space, the demon turned to him and hissed with its forked tongue.  Immediately, its haunches were set to attack.  

 

 _A pack_ , Maryse had said.  Magnus had felt them with his tracking magic.  Where were the others?

 

Cautious, blue flames of magic flickered to life from Magnus’ fingertips.  The demon bristled at the sight, the scaly spikes along his spine shifting with the movement, and he pounced forward from up in the air, quick and deadly as a viper, his slick wings narrow against the wind.

 

But adrenaline was already humming from within Magnus Bane.  This is what he had done before, on previous missions in Alicante and in London.  He slayed the worst of the demons that the Shadowhunters had never been able to kill.  With his magic, he showed how useful he was, and he would show New York as well.

 

With the blue magic collecting energy in his hands, Magnus sprung a missile of flames up at the flying demon, and it dissolved in fire.  Its ashes sprinkled to the ground, and Magnus was satisfied until, from the ash, two squiggling lumps seemed to vibrate with life, growing little limbs until they resembled small, lizard-like creatures, with shiny skin, black and slick as oil.  

 

_Asmodei._

 

Tenacious demons that came from Asmodeus’ region of Edom.  They were known to be an extremely intelligent and rare kind. Magnus had never dealt with them before, only read about them in Alicante’s library, but as they were spawned from one of the Princes of Hell, Magnus knew it would be a mistake to misjudge their cunning.

 

He wondered what they were doing here, but he didn't have long to wonder.

 

The new demons zipped towards Magnus, dangerously quick, in a messy line that made it hard for Magnus to shoot and not miss.  With each blue blast that missed, Magnus saw smoke sizzle from the pavement.

 

 As they sped towards him, the growls from their throats growing louder, Magnus was instinctively stepping backwards until his shoes felt the edge of the pavement.  His back must have been facing the street.

 

The growls were becoming so loud that they seemed to be coming from directly behind him, despite the demons being in his sight, until the realization dawned on him,

_Oh, this is an ambush._

 

As the two demons in front of him jumped at him, three more that must have been skittering in the street pounced from behind.  Magnus found his feet surrounded by oily critters that clawed at his legs and shoes.   

 

Bringing his hands together to his chest, he generated a ball of blue magic in his fists, letting it grow with a harnessed energy until he could feel it vibrating between his palms, begging to be unleashed.  He let it go and, like a bomb, the energy blasted off in all directions, throwing off the slimy demons. Two hit the brick walls of the alley and turned to ash, leaving imprints of themselves behind.  Thank God, they didn't seem to be transforming into more, smaller demons.

 

Without a second thought, Magnus blasted at a third which was running towards him.  As it also exploded, another demon pushed him from behind, and he stumbled with it, a move he was thankful was covered by the darkness.  As if the Shadowhunters were watching him struggle right now.

 

In his recovering, he glanced wildly around to see who was left.  If he had counted correctly, there should be two demons left in total. Where was the second? 

 

A hiss then came from behind him.  Of course, the demons had trapped him once again.  He must not have noticed them in the frenzy.  

 

Magnus looked up find a large, gray demon staring down at him, his wings beating against the night sky, intent on charging him one final time.

 

The small, oily demon that Magnus had missed from before was skittering around him in a circle.

 

His magic was starting to spark from his hands, weary from having been used so frequently in such a small amount of time.   Magnus was pretty sure he could blast them both pretty effectively, but he could feel his magic asking him for a recovery period.  Not to mention the slick demons he would need to take care of that would come from the ashes as soon as he blew apart the one now in the sky. 

 

The demon in the sky let out a feral screech, and the two creatures, in the sky and on the ground, charged towards him in a coordinated coup de tat.  

 

Between his index fingers, Magnus formed a fiery disc of blue magic about 30cm tall and swung it down first at the demon scuttling on the ground, cleanly slicing him in two and dissolving it into ash.  With the disk still in his hands, like a circular cutting blade, Magnus spun it up at the descending demon in the sky, intent on cutting it in half.

 

But before the disc could slice into it, a nub of sharp silver pierced through the flying demon’s scaly flesh, its point bloody with ichor.  The demon emitted a high pitched shriek of pain before exploding, Magnus’ disk of magic sailing through its ash unchecked until it eventually just dissolved.

 

As the remnants of ash were falling to the ground, Magnus heard a soft _clink_ , and looked to where the ash was collecting.  As two new demons formed on the ground, what looked like a small glass vial had dropped between them.  It must have been in the flying demon’s claws.  But why would a demon be carrying anything?

 

Magnus quickly extinguished the first formed demon with a _zap_ , and the other one was shot, once again, by a point of silver.  It squealed in pain and disappeared into the air.

 

 As Magnus approached where the creatures had formed, picking up the glass vial that seemed to contain a small, tightly rolled scroll, he found the silver that had stabbed the demon to be attached to a fine stick of wood—an arrow. The silver blade was inscribed with the symbol of the angel.  

 

Looks like his partner had found him after all.  He hoped there weren't any hard feelings after abandoning him in the Institute.

 

_Time to make a good impression._

 

As Magnus rose from the pavement, he found himself surprised, as the Shadowhunter wasn’t the girl from the nightclub, but instead a man with large, hazel eyes and a soldier’s build, who would've been extremely handsome if he wasn’t also ignoring Magnus, looking around the alley as if maybe the warlock had missed a few demons and there were still some, waiting in the shadows or behind the trash bins, to attack.

 

Magnus sighed internally.  Another Shadowhunter who didn't like him.  Was this just New York?

 

“Finally decided to show up?”

 

_Stupid, he’s probably pissed._

 

The Shadowhunter looked up at him when he spoke, his eyes landing on the glass vial Magnus had found in the ash of the demons.  

 

“No thanks to you.  What did you find?”  The soldier gestured to Magnus’ hands, moving towards him with intent _._

 

Magnus only bristled slightly at the Shadowhunter’s first reply, but complied all the same.  He held up the vial to their eyes, the glint of the street lamps reflecting in its glass.

 

“The demon must have dropped it.  I should be able to cast a quick spell on it, and we can see how it’s important,”  he smiled as if he knew it was going to work, their mission was going to be a complete success, and Magnus hadn't been planning on completing this mission all by himself in order to reassure himself, and the Clave, of his usefulness and trustworthiness.

 

Oblivious to Magnus’ thoughts, the Shadowhunter frowned and adjusted the sling of arrows to fit comfortably on his shoulder, “We’re going back to the institute first.  We’ll find a way to figure out what that is there.”

 

 _Our way,_ his words implied, _the Shadowhunter way_.

 

Already, he was turning to leave the alley, walking out onto the dark street, where the music from Pandemonuim was still playing at full bass.  No one had suspected a demon brawl in the next alley.  No one had heard or seen anything. 

 

Magnus sighed and jogged ahead to catch up to the man’s long-legged stride, still in the mood for persuading.

 

“We could.  Or we could finish the mission, and show up to Maryse Lightwood with a successful investigation.  My magic’s got a ten out of ten approval rate, in all areas,” he finished with a wink.

 

Suddenly the angelic soldier spun in his tracks, his face the closest it had been to Magnus’, who couldn't help notice the vibrant flecks of green visible in his eyes despite their dark surroundings, “Look, I’m not going to just blindly follow the word of a warlock who just flounced out of the Institute without any backup, or notice.  I don't know what your game is, but we’re going back to the institute.”

 

 _Touchy_ , Magnus thought.  As they continued to walk, the bass of the nightclub hummed beneath his feet.  He glanced at the nightclub’s entrance.  “Should we pick up your partner?”

 

“What?”, the Shadowhunter didn't even stop or glance back, uninterrupted in his stride.

 

“In the nightclub.  You didn't send her in there to check if I was there?”

 

The Shadowhunter stuttered in his step, a misstep ever so small, but a stutter all the same.  He glanced to the nightclub,  and a grimace formed on his lips, weary but familiar, as if he had worn the same expression before. 

 

“I didn't bring anyone. You didn't see anything.”

 

Magnus was pretty sure his eyes worked fine, but he stopped in his attempt to retort when the Shadowhunter pulled out his phone and started typing.  Empty silence filled their walk for a few beats.

 

“You know,”, Magnus was tired of the quiet, “It would be faster if I portalled us to the Institute-“

 

“No,” the Shadowhunter stuck his free hand out as if he could physical block Magnus from performing magic, “You’re not using magic.  Not after you just barged into a demon horde and I had to finish the job for you.”

 

Magnus scoffed, “I wouldn't say you ‘finished the job for me’.  You only struck two.  I killed _at_ _least_ three.”*

 

The soldier glared at him, the glow of the phone screen sharpening the angles of his face, “I shot four, there were more in the street before I got to you. But that’s not the point, the point is, this would've been more efficient if you had waited for me without thinking of your magic first.”

 

Magnus’ lip curled at that.  He wasn’t a child, and he didn't need this man to scold him.  

 

Before an indignant reply could escape from Magnus’ lips, the Shadowhunter’s phone chirped from his hand.  He stared at whatever reply he had received for a few beats of silence, until he blinked and appeared to have come to a decision, shutting off his phone and sliding it into his bak pocket. A grim yet weary expression had slid over his face.  Magnus wondered what could elicit such a response.  

 

“Change of plan.  We’re going in there.”

 

“Beg your pardon?” Magnus hummed, feeling petty from the scolding.

 

The Shadowhunter was looking up and across the street, his mouth formed into a hard yet determined line. 

 

 The lights of Pandemonium illuminated the street where they stood in flashing streaks of blue and purple, the bass of the music lightly rumbling the pavement under their feet. Just past the doorway, he could make out a glimpse of red, still weaving its way through the crowd.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Magnus killed like 7, but who's counting
> 
> I got so tired of calling Alec 'Shadowhunter', I promise he’ll introduce himself later, but we all know who it is lmao.  
> I love pettiness and salty Alec, hope i did him justice.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! Lots of love!
> 
> Also i have no idea why the End Notes from the first Chapter are below at the bottom of this 2nd chapter (or is that just me?), someone who knows how to use this platform plz help me out

**Author's Note:**

> *bodoh = stupid (Indonesian)
> 
> Thats the first chapter! Hmmm why hasn't Magnus figured out who his father is? And where are the Lightwood siblings?
> 
> Magnus Bane is a relatively (read: very) new Warlock (born post-WW2) because I didn't think that Magnus would work for the Clave for as long as I’m having him work for the Clave here—he’s an independent and very smart guy, and I know he would definitely uncover the Clave’s secrets pretty quickly. But also, for the sake of this premise, bear with me if Magnus is a little clueless to the Clave conditioning, especially at the start of this story.
> 
> Also yea, Henry Branwell as in Lydia’s ancestor (I assumed father, though I believe it is grandfather in the books, but I needed him to be alive when Maryse was in that lil flashback) I originally wasn’t going to include Lydia in this, but then suddenly I did.


End file.
